God, it was hot. Monster flies buzzed loudly and gnats incessantly sought the moisture in my eyes. The sun in the Rockies bore down and stung my skin with its intensity...but my feet were soon to be in 55 degree water and a fly rod was in my hand. On balance, not so bad.

It was just a blue line, this little stream, not even a name on the map. But, it was accessible from a forest service road. When I'd asked at the fly shop the guide working the register said give it a go. He knew...